


Cut From Whole Cloth

by EatYourSparkOut



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Lingerie, M/M, Minimus needs a hug, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, and also a good fragging, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourSparkOut/pseuds/EatYourSparkOut
Summary: In which a purchase is made, regretted, and then maybe not so regretted after all.Otherwise known as the one where Minimus looksgreatin lingerie.





	Cut From Whole Cloth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shockboob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shockboob/gifts).



> I needed to write some soft content, and I also had a craving for robots in lingerie. And of course, we all know I'm biased towards Minimus, and the world _desperately _need more Rodimags, so here we are! Two sweet boys having a wonderful time.__

_Salacious, indecent, unseemly_ —the words echoed accusingly inside his processor.

Minimus nervously stared into the mirror and his reflection stared back, confirming that yes, it really was him in the frilly and altogether impractical outfit. He glanced away for a moment, overcome by mortification.

He shifted uncertainly, before turning his gaze back to the mirror. This time he reigned in the instinctive urge to duck his head, though his cheeks heated all the same. Until recently, he’d never even _dream_ to find himself in such an absurd getup.

Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?

The acquisition of the garment in question had begun when he’d overheard a group of mechs at Swerves. He’d been paying a visit to Ten—to make sure that he was still faring well—and if he had also used that visit as an excuse to check up on the establishment surreptitiously, and make sure that everything was still above the board so to speak—well, it never hurt to be efficient.

The mechs in question been highly inebriated, which is what had first drawn his attention. Magnus had been ready to step in of course, if it seemed like they were becoming too rowdy to be allowed to carry on in a public space.

But while they were undoubtedly intoxicated, they hadn’t appeared to be an immediate threat to the patrons, and so he had tempered his urge to escort them from the premises. After all, he had promised Rodimus that he would try to be a little more forgiving when it came to social situations, and had begrudgingly accepted that what he deemed disorderly conduct might be a tad excessive by other bots’ standards. He'd vowed to temper his initial reactions, no matter how much he itched to instill some _order_ on this ship.

And so he hadn’t said anything, though their vocalizers had been functioning at a decibel entirely too loud to be considered acceptable and their sharp gestures and overcharged flailing had him gritting his denta in irritation. Social settings already made Magnus wildly uncomfortable, and social settings where bots weren't fully in control of their actions made him even more so due to their unpredictability.

Their voices had carried, and Magnus had been subjected to the group discussing their berth preferences at a frankly indecent volume. A debate had started up about whether or not mechs looked good in “lingerie”, or whether it was something best left to organics. The general consensus had appeared to be that they did indeed look “hot as slag”, and Magnus had found himself reluctantly drawn into their conversation.

Minimus knew that Rodimus was far more experienced in the berth than he, and though he seemed to enjoy their fairly routine interfacing—and had told him so on multiple occasions—he still often felt as though he were disappointing Rodimus in some manner.

The conversation had nagged at Magnus for the rest of the afternoon, particularly the decision that this “lingerie” was indeed something with interfacing appeal. He’d recalled the term vaguely from his stint on earth, but whatever it was obviously hadn't been important enough for him to devote much memory space to, as he hadn’t quite been able to recall what it looked like.

A quick search had brought up a number of alien species—the vast majority of them organic—all draped in various fabrics presumably meant to highlight their forms. They’d been of numerous designs and colors, and the one unifying trait among them had seemed to be to show off as much of their person as possible. For organics, these scantily clad bodies were clearly meant to be... provocative.

Magnus had almost closed the page then and there, but a sliver of curiosity had outweighed the initial embarrassment, and one question had lingered at the forefront of his mind—would Rodimus like something like this? The mechs at the bar had clearly thought it something appealing, though he didn't know how much of the general population their preferences reflected, and he'd been loathe to trust the advice of clearly intoxicated mechs.

He’d scrolled through the images absently, a mild sense of abashment flooding his field—though it’d been mitigated slightly by the fact that he hadn’t found the organics in question sexually appealing. Of course, that hadn’t precluded the fact that he’d been entertaining the outfits in an interface-related capacity, and so their connotations had still been enough to bring the heat to his cheekplating.

Magnus had fought down the rising embarrassment, and had continued browsing the images in order to better understand their appeal. The colors had been pleasing enough, and the material they were made of often had an aesthetic quality which Magnus could appreciate, but he still hadn’t quite understood what they added to the act of interface. They were, in the end, merely decorative.

Magnus had stopped on an image of a human clad in a black ensemble, with far too many straps than was practical. He’d ignored the vacantly smiling model and tried to imagine Rodimus in their place. Admittedly, the straps would accentuate the pleasing lines of his frame, and cling to his sharp curves. Yes, he could see Rodimus wearing something like this.

He would cock his hip, greet Magnus with a knowing smile. Rodimus would then turn around to reveal how the fabric molded itself to all of his sleek plating—enticing Magnus to touch the shining expanse of metal, and the graceful sweep of his spoiler.

Magnus' fans had started up with a dull roar, and he’d been so startled by his reaction that he’d almost dropped the datapad.

Oh.

With a mildly guilty demeanor, he’d initiated the search for something which would fit one of his smaller forms.

Eventually, Magnus had found something. A website which catered to lifeforms of a larger scale had had a variety of options for him to choose from, and he had agonized over the purchase for several days before finally confirming the order. He’d chosen something which had appealed to him visually, and that—he hoped—would appeal to Rodimus as well.

He’d had it sent discreetly to a hub and had picked it up when they next stopped for supplies—unobtrusively retrieving the package and all the while hoping that no one would inquire as to its contents. Logically, he’d known they had no reason—nor authority—to do so, but Magnus had still felt as if everyone’s optics were on him, and he’d had to refrain from repeatedly glancing over his shoulder even after the package was safely within his subspace.

Now, back in their berthroom, Minimus was beginning to regret the whole endeavor.

As he looked in the mirror he simply couldn’t imagine that Rodimus would think him attractive; it was more likely he would burst out laughing. Minimus wasn’t some sleek speedster, he was just... him. Plain, unremarkable Minimus Ambus. Still in his inner armor, he was perhaps more appealing than he would be in his simpler, irreducible form, but he didn’t imagine that anyone would ever look at him as an object of desire.

The truth was, Minimus was continuously surprised by Rodimus’ interest. Though they had been courting for some time, he still found it hard to wrap his processor around the fact that Rodimus found him worthy of courting, of spending time with and... well, interfacing—as much as the thought flustered him.

Would Rodimus find him appealing like this? The outfit itself was meant to entice—clearly, as Minimus was on the verge of scandalizing himself—and so the sensual properties of the lingerie were more than adequate. But did it make him any of those things? Did it accentuate his frame, or simply make him look ridiculous? Minimus was inclined to answer the latter.

He took a moment to analyze his appearance more thoroughly, difficult as it was to keep from turning away in discomfort.

The sheer white fabric flowed when he moved, but settled delicately against his frame otherwise. It was edged with lace at the top, and an unassuming bow colored to match was placed in the center—just above his spark. Two thin straps held the garment up, and the majority of the cloth—which stretched down to just below the tops of his thighs—was peppered with small white dots. It covered everything and yet hid nothing, being as thin as it was.

The website had called it a ‘babydoll’, though what it had to do with either of those things was beyond him.

The accompanying undergarments—panties—he corrected, despite the way it made him flush, were just large enough to cover his interface equipment, and the lacy white triangle was slightly more opaque than the top—though not by much. Thin strings connected this as well, and while they sat well in-between his hip joints he hoped that excessive movement wouldn’t catch or tear the fabric.

A pair of ruffled garters completed the outfit, and while Minimus understood that they could be attached to stockings, today it was just the rings snug around his thighs. The garment was... pretty, he admitted, and though he had never in his life thought of himself as such, he hoped that they conferred some of that aesthetic quality to his own frame.

It certainly _felt_ nice. The soft brush of the material on his armor was oddly soothing, and yet it also stimulated his sensors pleasantly—hinting at the possibility of more. Yes, Minimus could get used to this—in time.

The idea of revealing himself to Rodimus right now was too nerve-wracking. It made his spark pulse frantically in his chest, and uneasiness crawl beneath his plating—the possibility of rejection or ridicule lurking in the dark corners of his processor. No, he would let himself get used to the idea—put on the lingerie a few times by himself in order to become more comfortable with its presence on his frame. Then, perhaps he would be ready to share himself.

Minimus made as if to remove the first of the garters; he had his fingers beneath one of the elastic bands when the chime of the door engaging froze his circuits. No, no, no, Rodimus wasn’t supposed to be off-shift for another _vorn_ ; he’d triple-checked the schedule to make sure. But no one else had the combination to his suite and he’d most certainly locked the door before beginning—Minimus had checked _that_ four times.

The door slid open before he could direct his panicked thoughts to anything more productive, and then Rodimus stepped through. He’d been saying something in an amiable tone—Minimus hadn’t gleaned what, as the mortification had already frozen his processor—but stopped abruptly when his optics settled on the incriminating scene before him.

Minimus wanted to sink into the floor. They stared at each other for a few tense moments, Rodimus’ mouth agape and optics fixed on Minimus’ frame.

“What’s this?” he asked, vocalizer cracking on the upturn.

Unfortunately, Minimus found himself incapable of formulating a response. He couldn't speak. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything for fear of escalating this further, and he was sure that his suddenly ragged vents made that very clear to Rodimus—only adding to his rapidly rising anxiety. For all intents and purposes, Minimus was paralyzed.

Thankfully, Rodimus must have sensed his distress, as his expression quickly morphed into one of concern. He stepped inside—shutting the door behind him—and approached slowly.

Minimus shuttered his optics in quiet shame. His fortitude faltered, and with a fresh wave of trepidation his legs gave out beneath him—dropping him to the floor and onto his knees.

“Hey...” Rodimus was saying softly, and then Minimus felt the comfort of his field reaching out. A gentle servo brushed against his cheek, and when he didn’t flinch from the touch, cupped it. The warmth of Rodimus’ servo was welcome; it grounded him slightly, and allowed him to focus on getting his vents under control, despite the humiliation which burned through his lines.

Minimus tried to think of anything but the compromising circumstances of their situation, though by its very nature that line of thought drew him back to the lingerie that Rodimus was undoubtedly still eyeing.

“Hey, it’s ok Mims. Deep vents alright? I don’t know why you’re upset, but I wanna help, so maybe you could walk me through it, huh? Or we could just sit here till you’re feeling better—that’s cool too,” said Rodimus, all in a rush.

He was babbling, as Rodimus was wont to when something was going wrong and he didn’t quite know how to fix it. He compensated by throwing himself headfirst into the problem, and the unwavering determination warmed Minimus’ spark—made it easier to focus on calming himself. He couldn’t even voice his complaints about the ridiculous shortening of his name.

“It’s... it was for you. I hadn’t planned on... I didn’t know if...” Minimus was frustratingly inarticulate at the moment, and he grimaced. The fluttering of his spark had diminished to a manageable level, though intense mortification still simmered under his armor and made him want to crawl inside of himself.

Rodimus stroked his cheek plating, and Minimus onlined his optics to find him kneeling as well—face radiating open compassion and warmth. Minimus wondered at the fact that so few saw beneath the bravado to the thoughtful mech in front of him. As irritating and _brash_ as he could be at times, Rodimus was truly, genuinely good.

The fact that Rodimus didn’t spare a glance at the ridiculous outfit, and had concern only for his well-being, gave him courage.

“I didn’t know if you would like it,” finished Minimus quietly. _I was afraid_ , was left unsaid.

“Is that all?” Rodimus asked equally quietly, no trace of judgement or derision in his voice—only inquiry. “You’re ok otherwise?”

Minimus nodded miserably in response.

Rodimus’ face shone with relief—and a small amount of exasperation, though none of it ill-meant.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s alright,” he informed him, with a grin that made Minimus’ spark flutter in a much more acceptable way. He nodded again minutely, and the next instant there were warm and firm derma molding themselves to his own.

The gentleness of the kiss made Minimus tremble slightly—still recovering from his moment of panic. He opened up at the first hint of glossa, and Rodimus moaned his approval.

Rodimus’ servo slipped underneath the lingerie to caress his hip plating, but the reminder made Minimus flinch.

Rodimus broke the kiss immediately, and Minimus was met with a pair of eager, but concerned optics.

“Mims, I _love_ it. I swear to Primus you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, just seeing you on a _regular_ day is already enough to get my engine revving, but this? _Holy slag_ ,” Rodimus enthused.

Minimus looked away. It was nice of Rodimus to say so, but he had no illusions; he knew what he was.

Rodimus gently took ahold of his chin and turned Minimus back to face him.

“I mean it. Seriously. I pretty much popped my panel when I walked in. Can’t believe you didn’t hear the clang from here,” he said with a cheeky smile.

Minimus felt the heat rising back into his cheeks at Rodimus’ vulgarity, but he refrained from commenting. He licked his derma, still tingling from the kiss.

“You don’t think it’s… absurd?” asked Minimus, still uncertain.

Rodimus looked him up and down, and his optics darkened.

“ _Definitely_ not,” he insisted. He then rose to his pedes enthusiastically, and offered him a servo. Minimus took it, and allowed Rodimus to haul him up, whereupon Rodimus gave him another onceover—his optics lingering on Minimus’ panels.

“...Want me to prove it?” A touch of uncertainty colored Rodimus' voice—clearly trying not to push—but it was mostly laden with desire, and so Minimus gathered his resolve and took what was being offered before his reeling mind could rationalize a refusal.

“Yes.” A touch unsteady, but acceptable considering the circumstances.

Rodimus pulled at his arm and guided him towards the berth, almost stumbling in his eagerness. Minimus nearly chastised him for his lack of poise, but then remembered that the eagerness was because of _him_ and abruptly shut his mouth.

Then he was kneeling on the berth with Rodimus in front of him, and Rodimus was looking upon him with burning optics.

Minimus awaited instruction.

“Spread your thighs a little more?” asked Rodimus, and Minimus fought down the stirrings of his insecurity in order to obey the request. He felt indecently exposed, which was ridiculous considering that the lingerie was another layer on top of what was already considered perfectly respectable armor.

Rodimus reached out and ran his servos slowly up the length of Minimus’ thighs; the reverence with which he was handled made his spark ache. Rodimus always treated him like he was something special—something worth _savoring_ , rather than something to be discarded after use. ~~Nothing like Tyrest.~~

The exploratory touch paused at the garters, and Rodimus slipped a finger under one of them and pulled—testing the elastic. It snapped back, and Minimus twitched at the small sting, but the rush of heat which originated from the contact point and radiated outwards gave him pause.

Well.

Something to explore later, perhaps.

To his mild surprise, Rodimus didn’t immediately head for his panel, but returned to where he had left off—with one hand slipping under the sheer fabric to to stroke receptive chest plating. Minimus moaned softly as clever fingers made their way into sensitive seams, and traced them with firm pressure.

“Primus, you’re pretty,” Rodimus whispered, leaning forward for another kiss.

Minimus opened immediately this time, and Rodimus’ glossa swept in for a taste. He slanted his head in order to deepen the kiss, and Minimus followed—so very willingly. The combination of praise and gentle guidance by Rodimus was making him slightly dizzy.

Rodimus’ other servo had also ventured up to his chest, but it rested on the lingerie, and now he proceeded to rub the sheer fabric against Minimus’ armor. It was soft, but exquisitely textured, and the feel of it sliding against overactive sensors had him arching into the touch with a small gasp. Rodimus broke the kiss—tugging tenderly on Minimus' derma in parting—to look down upon him with impassioned optics.

Minimus could only imagine what he saw; himself in a deplorable state of decorum—his straining vents, dim optics, and parted lips painting a stark picture of debauchery. He couldn’t quite bring himself to feel self-conscious however, not with Rodimus looking at him like that.

Rodimus had opened his panels at some point, and Minimus’ vents caught at the familiar feel of that gaudy spike pressed against his midsection. The thin material shrouding him did little to hide the small damp spots left behind—evidence of Rodimus' mounting desire.

Rodimus leaned forward, and Minimus was guided down onto his back by the warm press of his frame. Meanwhile, Rodimus continued to rub the fabric slowly against his plating in small rhythmic circles—a decidedly pleasing pattern.

The fabric was bunched above his thighs—in order to more thoroughly assault his plating with handfuls of the gratifying texture—and Minimus showed his appreciation in the curve of his backstrut, and the flickering of his optics.

He felt as though he should reciprocate in some way, but when he went to touch Rodimus in return, Rodimus caught his servo and shook his head.

“I just want this to be about you, if that’s ok,” he said, optics open and earnest. Once again, Minimus was struck by the fact that few ever got to see Rodimus like this—without the _bluster_ , and the exasperating impulsivity. His mistakes were many, as were his faults, but they didn’t know how considerate he was—or how hard he _tried_.

Minimus didn’t know what he had done to deserve such devotion.

He nodded mutely, and Rodimus resumed his attentions. When the fabric was dragged deliberately across the exposed circuits in his hip joints, Minimus stifled another moan. This time the pleasure shot straight to his array, which opened with a subdued click.

The sight of his pressurized spike straining against the fabric wrung a groan from Rodimus, and Minimus was certainly affected himself. His spike was thoroughly trapped by the lace, which rubbed maddeningly and caught against ridges, and he was soon squirming, hips moving of their own accord in an attempt to alleviate the pressure.

Rodimus took pity on him, or—as was more likely—ran out of patience himself, and he palmed the tip which peeked above the edge. Minimus threw his head back against the berth with a choked cry as the ecstasy flooded over him—spike throbbing in appreciation and keeping time with his spark.

The constant stimulation from the lingerie had him more sensitive than usual; every soft, casual brush was a mech’s phantom touch on his frame. The teasing ignited all of his circuits at once, even those not being actively stroked by Rodimus, and his sensornet was a live wire—ready to spark at the slightest provocation.

His valve was faring little better; the fleeting grazes across sensitive mesh had him lubricating profusely, but it was being caught by the panties, and the material had already begun to soak through. Minimus noted absently that he appreciated the mitigation of the mess, before he was swept away by by another generous palm of his spike.

Rodimus watched him with heated optics as Minimus clutched at the berth, and he ground his spike against his midsection, further soiling the flimsy covering. The rapidly spreading damp patches added a rougher quality to Rodimus’ manipulation of the fabric, and when he scratched at Minimus’ armor through the material Minimus pressed into it—overcome by the sensory data lighting up his systems.

“Rodimus,” he gasped. “Rodimus please.” Not quite begging, but he would be there soon if Rodimus chose to continue teasing rather than take mercy on him.

“Yeah,” acknowledged Rodimus hoarsely. “Yeah, let me just—” and he bunched the fabric higher around Minimus’ waist, shifting downwards between his open thighs. Minimus flushed as Rodimus bit his derma and moaned softly at the sight of what must have been completely drenched fabric.

The lingerie was white; Minimus had no doubts that Rodimus could see his array clear through it, and he might have been more flustered if he wasn’t so consumed by the need for Rodimus to do something—to take _action_ and alleviate the charge practically reverberating through his field.

Rodimus didn’t disappoint.

“You’re so fragging hot,” he breathed, before diving in to drag a hot glossa up the length of Minimus’ barely-concealed valve. Minimus clutched at the covers in desperation as a wave of electrifying sensation rolled through his array and straight to his spark. Rodimus did it again, and despite his best efforts a whimper bypassed the last tatters of his composure.

Minimus’ thighs would have squeezed together reflexively had Rodimus not maintained a firm grip on them and endeavored to keep him spread. He latched on to Minimus’ pulsating anterior node—suckling softly through the ineffectual barrier—and Minimus had to bite down to refrain from keening. The sublime combination of carefully applied pressure and textured lace escalated his arousal to a nearly unbearable level.

He panted and twisted into Rodimus’ helpful servos, attempting to withstand the torrent of sensation which flooded his frame and pooled in his array. It didn’t help to focus on Rodimus, as the sight of him at the crux of his thighs—so focused on wringing as much pleasure from him as possible—was almost enough to tip Minimus over the edge.

Ultimately, one more lick with the flat of his glossa was all it took to shatter the remainder of Minimus’ control and pull him into a trembling overload.

“Oh,” he breathed. He shuttered his optics, and pushed his hips into Rodimus’ warm and welcome mouth as he took him gently over the swelling crest with attentive application of his glossa.

The overload left Minimus shaking with tired satisfaction, but it was soon clear that Rodimus wasn’t finished. As the last of the shudders made their way across Minimus’ frame he tugged aside the lubricant-soaked fabric to access his valve directly.

Then, Rodimus was mouthing at him. He was lapping at the ring of engorged nodes just inside the rim of his valve, leaving them tingling and unsatisfied. Minimus yearned for more, and tried to make that clear with a feeble admonishment.

Rodimus heard the plea underneath, and he proceeded to hike Minimus’ legs onto his shoulders with no small amount of enthusiasm. This time when Minimus instinctively tightened his thighs, Rodimus encouraged the action—allowing him to wrap them around his helm as he burrowed closer. His glossa sank in further, and Minimus’s calipers cycled down around the intrusion in a weak attempt to keep it there.

Rodimus’ glossa lacked the thickness or texture of his spike, but more than made up for it by the way it wriggled against his nodes without any sort of foreseeable pattern. Minimus disliked unpredictability on principle, but for this... for this he could make an exception.

Rodimus licked him open and drank him down like a mech starved and when Minimus clutched desperately at his helm he hummed his approval. The ensuing vibrations, as well as the insistent nudge of Rodimus’ chevron against his aching node, were all that it took to ignite his circuits in another processor-wiping overload.

Minimus arched against the berth—covering his mouth with a servo and biting down to mute the undignified keen which escaped him as rapture seized his frame once more.

This time, Rodimus pulled away to watch—returning Minimus’ legs to the berth, and replacing his mouth with the soft pressure of a servo in order to see him through the worst of it. Rodimus’ optics still burned, but rather than make him feel self-conscious the lingering gaze only made Minimus’ spark pulse harder in gratification.

Minimus collapsed against the berth, utterly exhausted. He spared a glance at Rodimus’ face and when he saw the open affection there—as well as the unmistakable evidence of his overload—he grew weak again.

Rodimus’ spike still jutted out from his array—hard and unsatisfied—and Minimus felt a twinge of guilt. Rodimus was a generous lover; it made no difference if their interface was hard and vigorous or languid and tender—he almost always ensured that Minimus was satiated before tending to his own needs.

Minimus felt... inadequate in comparison.

Still, Rodimus had never said he found him lacking, and so he would hang onto that small kernel of hope, and do his best to reciprocate even a fraction of the attention he himself received.

Rodimus chose that moment to break the silence, and Minimus was startled from his pensivity.

“Still don’t think I like it?” he asked; his voice was thick with desire, but retained its familiar, cocky edge. Minimus looked at him helplessly—overwhelmed by inner conflict as his own dismal evaluation warred with the confirmation of Rodimus’ appreciation.

With no answer apparently forthcoming, Rodimus deflated a little; that was the opposite of what Minimus wanted, so he quickly sat up and grabbed Rodimus’ arm to keep him from pulling away. Their optics met, and Minimus saw a reflection of his own uncertainty lurking behind Rodimus’ self-assured demeanor.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Rodimus shook his head; he opened his mouth as if to argue, or insist that gratitude wasn’t necessary, but then he closed it and looked at Minimus consideringly.

“Good for one more?” he asked.

He considered.

Minimus enjoyed interface but it wasn’t always a priority for him. He didn’t have the same libido or stamina that Rodimus exhibited, and became sensitive fairly quickly. That being said, he enjoyed pleasing Rodimus, and while his frame throbbed tiredly he hadn’t yet hit the threshold of too much.

What’s more, his spike still pulsed unpitying from where it was caged.

“Yes,” he determined finally.

Rodimus beamed, and Minimus was pulled enthusiastically forward into his lap. He allowed Rodimus to reposition them so that he straddled his thighs—back pressed against the warm metal of Rodimus’ chest, where his spark thrummed comfortingly.

Of course, something else thrummed underneath him, and it wasn’t nearly so innocent. Rodimus’ spike was slotted between his thighs, and it pressed against the spot where the wet fabric had molded itself to the slight indent of his valve.

Minimus glanced down and was momentarily overwhelmed by the erotic picture the two of them made; a rigid red spike poking out between lubricant drenched thighs—a stark contrast against the stained lace.

That being said, it didn’t seem very efficient.

“Rodimus,” he began hesitantly, “are you positive that this is the most optimal positi—on.” His voice caught as servos ventured beneath the lingerie again to fondle the plating within reach.

Rodimus laughed.

“Nah, it’ll be good. Trust me,” came the amused response. Rodimus wrapped an arm around Minimus’ waist to hold him steady, before giving an experimental thrust forward.

Minimus’ optics flared, and he threw a hand behind him to grasp at Rodimus’ plating and steady himself. The ridges and whorls of the spike had passed over already sensitized nodes, and were the direct cause of the molten pleasure which had coursed through him once again. Another thrust elicited an unsteady moan, and a third had him grinding down on the hard length in an attempt to solicit _more_.

“How’s this?” asked Rodimus shakily, and Minimus clenched his thighs tighter in response.

“Slag Mims, I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he groaned.

“..It’s perfect,” admitted Minimus. _It always is._

Internally, he vowed to make sure to voice his appreciation more often. Not simply in the berth, but for everything Rodimus tried to do for him... despite his tendency to go overboard in all things.

Another thrust, and Minimus didn’t hold back his gasp as the spike shifted angles and prodded his anterior node. He knew that he was a quiet partner—often inclined to stifling his moans out of embarrassment or self-consciousness—but he also knew that Rodimus enjoyed hearing him, so he had been making an effort to improve.

Rodimus on the other hand, was _not_ a quiet partner, and repeatedly made his approval known through a plethora of moans and whimpers. He was babbling again, and this time Minimus appreciated it for an entirely different reason.

“Oh Primus, you’re pretty. You’re so, _so_ hot; you’re gonna fragging kill me Mims, I swear. Ohh, can we do this in front of a mirror next time? Please, say yes—please I’m begging you. I’ll make it really good I swear; I just wanna see this again. Or I’ll spike you next time, how about that? It’ll be so good.” The rambling was punctuated with enthusiastic mouthing at anything within reach; the seams of his shoulders, and the jut of his collar being the most favored.

“Even better, you could spike _me_. Please?” asked Rodimus. He gave a slight moan, and Minimus echoed him.

Minimus was a furnace; pleasure igniting and swelling within him with each of Rodimus’ words, and the accompanying languid thrusts. With dim optics he watched the sensuous slide of the spike through the copious lubricant—practically dripping through the lingerie at this point—and rode the rumbling of Rodimus’ high performance engine, reveling in the way it assaulted his nodes and set him to quivering.

“Come on Mims,” Rodimus breathed desperately. “Touch yourself?”

Minimus was helpless to disobey, and his fingers drifted to massage his aching node even as Rodimus’ fingers curled inside sensitive hip joints and rubbed. His other hand reached around to give Minimus’ neglected spike some attention—grinding his palm against it, and rubbing at the exposed tip with his thumb. Minimus jerked into the stimulation, crying out as it caused Rodimus’ spike to bump into his node once again.

The welcome sensation of a heady field wrapping around his and a few more sweet nothings whispered into an audial were all it took to send him careening into another overload. He arched in Rodimus’ hold as transfluid spurted from his spike, throbbing blissfully in time with his spark. More lubricant gushed across Rodimus’ own spike, and he thrust against Minimus’ fluttering valve one more time—moaning his long-delayed release.

Minimus sagged in Rodimus’ hold, allowing himself to catch his breath, and enjoy the shuddering aftershocks.

Unfortunately, he was only able to relax for a few moments. Now that they had finished, the mess was becoming too much to tolerate, and he shifted restlessly.

Rodimus understood—of course he did—and after a few more steadying vents, assisted him in removing the garments from his person. The top came off easily, but they ran into some trouble with the panties, which were much harder to remove now that they were soaked in lubricant. Minimus could feel himself getting twitchy as the fluids dried and grew tacky on his frame.

Rodimus no doubt sensed his rising need to get to a washrack, and opted for a quicker method—taking hold of the string and ripping it apart. The fabric snapped easily.

“Rodimus!”

He’d _paid_ for that.

“Relax Mims.”

Rodimus raised the garment to show that the string already showed signs of wear, and was fraying in multiple places—likely having slid against unforgiving mechanisms in Minimus’ hip joints.

“We can always buy a new one. Or y’know, lots of new ones,” he added with an exaggerated wink.

Minimus ducked his head in embarrassment and proceeded to clamber out of the berth, but Rodimus stopped him with a servo on his arm.

“Wait a sec. C’mere,” he requested, and when Minimus turned he was treated to a soft and slow kiss which stretched on for even longer than Rodimus had likely intended.

When they broke apart Minimus blinked owlishly, and then cleared his throat.

“Yes, well... I love you too,” he muttered, and Rodimus beamed. A few months ago that had been difficult for him to say—vulnerability was not his forte—but it had been made clear to him long ago that Rodimus reciprocated his feelings, no matter how strange it might seem at times.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” suggested Rodimus warmly. He took Minimus by the servo in order to assist him out of the berth, and lead him to the washracks. His legs still shook, much as he would have liked to deny it.

Along the way, Rodimus posed a question.

“Hey, you think I’d look good in something like that?”

Minimus blushed.

**Author's Note:**

> Cut from whole cloth: completely fictional or uterly false, totally made up.
> 
> Fun fact: the WIP for this work was titled Provocative Pistachio, and it gave my friends and I a giggle.
> 
> Here's what Minimus' outfit looks like.  
> http://nord.imgix.net/Zoom/5/_12946945.jpg?fit=fill&fm=jpg&dpr=2&h=368&w=240&q=30
> 
> Here's what he imagined Rodimus in.  
> https://donshofer.tumblr.com/post/157709936751


End file.
